Life, Interrupted
by she who throws stones
Summary: Roxanne has small cell lung cancer, and has only months left; Gerard has a whole lifetime. She yearns for a life to live, while he wants none of his. Will they be enough to help each other appreciate what's left for them in this world?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! Just FYI, this is my first fanfic, so we'll see how things go. . . It is an MCR fanfic, because Gerard is hot and they just kick ass in general. Main pairing will be Gerard/OC. For now, rating is just for language and smoking, but you never know what the future holds. . . **_**[grins evilly]**_**.**

**DISCLAIMER: in my opinion, it is quite obvious that I do not own MCR, but that's just me. A girl can dream, though. . . Oh, but the story IS mine! Heh-heh.**

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><p><em>Roxanne's POV<em>

I slouched in my desk chair. My eyes were glued to the harshly glowing screen in front of me. They scanned entry after entry on the website. _"It was hard for a while at first, but eventually I learned to just take life as it comes. And against all odds I survived, and now I'm a concert pianist. It's definitely changed me for the better."_ Bullshit. As if a fatal disease could possibly change one_ for the better_.

I would have laughed, but I didn't do that anymore. Not since I heard the news. The annoying thing was that the doctors tried to look all upset and shit, even though it was obvious that they didn't give a fuck. 'I'm very sorry, Roxanne, but you appear to have small cell lung cancer,' was what they said, in their "I-feel-so-sorry-for-you-yet-I-don't-actually-care" kind of voices. Pathetic. Mom insisted that it was because I smoked, which I consistently informed her was shit talk from someone who smoked enough cigarettes in one day to supply your average gas station for a week. But back to me. I was pretty much dying. I viciously stabbed at the track pad on the laptop with a single finger after I had maneuvered the curser over to the little red "X" in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Phew, thank God _that_ was over. I can't believe Mom actually had the nerve to _command_ me to look at some self-help website about dealing with fatal diseases. It might not seem that bad, but these were all stories and articles written by people who had _survived_ the motherfucking thing. Now how fucked up is that?

I closed the laptop as gently as was possible in my current state of mind. After shoving around several months' worth of shit laying around inside the desk, I located a pack of cigarettes. It might as well have been surrounded with a glistening light, accompanied by the sound of angels' trumpets, and had a halo floating above it for all the happiness it gave me. Or at least _seemed_ to give me, while I was indulging in the death sticks it provided. I had an equally hard time finding my lighter; once I finally did, I shared with it some choice words I had picked up from the more disgusting boys in my school. Satisfied with my cursing abilities, I lit up and walked over to the window; hey, just because I smoke doesn't mean I want every single thing in my home to smell like it. I inhaled, then slowly exhaled, reveling in the sensation. Some people just look weird smoking, I know, I've seen it (and internally laughed at their attempts to be badass), and I know for a fact that I'm a motherfucking natural. For me, it's just like chewing gum or reading. Once I start, I automatically keep going. Apparently, just like my mother.

"Roxanne!"

I growled (yes, I _do_ growl) under my breath. Speak of the devil. . .

"Roxanne! You're not smoking, are you? If I go up there and you're smoking. . ." she trails off, her low, grainy, chain smoker voice descending into a fit of coughing.

Unfortunately, she need not finish that threat. I know very well from experience how creative this woman can be when it comes to punishments. I quickly stub out my cigarette in my handy-dandy ashtray, and leave it there, setting the tray on the shallow ledge outside, just to the left of the window; the ledges were one of the few bonuses this complex has to offer.

I get up and shut the window, scurrying over to my desk, and am just beginning to look busy with a book as she opens the door while knocking on it.

"Why would I be smoking, Mom? Wouldn't my impending death be a pretty good reason to quit?" She clearly doesn't appreciate my logical thinking.

She sent an impressive glare my way before stalking out, leaving the door hanging open. I sighed.

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><p><em>Gerard's POV<em>

"Hey, there. Wanna go get a drink or two?" An old, hopefully drunk man was leering at me from against the filthy brick wall of the dimly lit alley.

I tried not to cringe as I ignored him and continued on to my apartment. I hated living in this shithole, but it was all we could, or would be able to afford for a while, probably forever. Hopefully this pleasant resident would take the hint and give up.

Thankfully, he did, and I quickened my pace in hopes to avoid further such encounters. When I finally reached my apartment, I fumbled with the keys, cursing when I couldn't find the right one. Eventually I did, and I let myself into the apartment.

"Mikey," I called out. I was answered by a loud snore coming from the ancient couch sitting a few feet from me in front of the microscopic television.

I sighed. Second time in one week I'd found him sleeping on the couch. Whatever. He _was_ Mikey, after all. If sleeping on a couch despite the obvious presence of two perfectly (well, not _perfectly_. . .) good beds was the weirdest thing he did, I should consider myself lucky.

I continued on past the living room, down the use-to-be-cream-colored carpeted hall, and entered a room. My room. I shut and, as always, locked the door behind me. Mikey needn't know about every single thing I do.

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><p><strong>AN: So, there it is! Please review. Whether you liked it, or not! I have no idea if there will be a next chapter or when, but I'd like to think that this will be continued at some point. Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay guys, I know it's a cliché, but I'm sorry, I've gotta do it. Oh, BTW, if perverted old guys creep you out, I suggest you skip the fourth paragraph to Gerard's POV. It's not that bad at all, but whatever. . . Anyway, here goes nothing! **

**Disclaimer: Do I own MCR? Well, now that you mention it. . .**

I was taking out the garbage. Glamorous, I know. It was only nine-ish in the evening, but it was late September, so it was pretty dark. Great. Just fuckin' peachy. Whatever. It was one of the shittier parts of Jersey, but at the time I really just didn't care. I traipsed over to the curb, dropping the disgusting black bag of shit as soon as I could. I couldn't help grimacing at the cloud of putrid air that puffed out of the bag when it hit the ground.

"Ew," I muttered.

Now, in my defense, the horrific odor produced by the trash was quite distracting, and the annoying lack of light created lots of shadowed areas and dark corners. So, it really wasn't my fault that I didn't notice the homeless guy staggering drunkenly up to me. Even though he wasn't exactly quiet about it.

"Well, hello, there," he leered at me. Okay, _ew_.

Time for me to skeedadle, I suppose.

I tried to just sort of go around him back to the complex, but apparently cancer's kind of shitty for your body, so I wasn't too swift.

He managed to grab my arm with short, grubby fingers that dug into my flesh.

"Hey!" I cried. I shoved at him, but he held on. I attempted to yank myself out of his grip, but to no avail.Fuckshit.

He was dragging me closer to him with his eyes all creepy and shiny-looking when I decided this had gone more than far enough.

"Help!" I yelled, realizing too late that it was nine o'clock on a Thursday night; the area wasn't exactly densely populated at the moment. Damn, damn, damn.

"Aw, come on, I just wanna have some _fun_," he insisted, lips pulling back to reveal rotting, yellow lumps of what used to be teeth.

He reached around with his other hand towards my face, grabbing my chin while simaltaneously moving his other hand and squeezing my ass.

"No! Someone help me! Please!" I didn't realize until now that I was crying. Well, fuck. This was a shitty-ass way to die. It made cancer seem like a trip to Kiddyland.

Apparently, he didn't like my newfound desperation, because he slapped me in the face. Hard enough that, if I actually survived this, I would have had a bruise for weeks.

"No," I mumbled under my breath, unable to hold back a whimper.

The homeless man was still grinning when he fell over sideways, his head making a distinct cracking sound as it hit the pavement.

I almost collapsed, my eyes darting around. He couldn't have been _that_ drunk. And he wasn't.

". . . goddamn Motherfucker. Hey, are you okay?" Someone asked me.

I caught a glimpse of something pale fringed with black before my world went dark.

_Gerard's POV_

The girl's eyelids slid shut as her legs seemed to give out. I managed to catch her before she hit the concrete, thanks to my apparent adrenaline rush.

I lowered her to the ground, looking at her closely. Who knows what that fucker did to her before I got here.

There was a big red mark on her left cheek, roughly the size and shape of and open hand. "Shit," I muttered. It extended from the angle of her jaw up to her prominent cheekbones, partially obscured by a lock of straight, raven hair. Her lips were somehow a deep plumb color, despite her pale skintone. Grayish silver eyes were covered by almost lavender eyelids, and fringed with pure black, glossy lashes. Wait, how did I remember what color her eyes were?

Whatever. Okay, so what are my options here? What does one do when faced with an exceptionally stunning, kinda-sorta _unconsious_ teenage girl? I'm unashamed to admit I haven't the slightest idea. Um, I could. . . take her to my apartment? No, don't want to seem like a creeper. . . I can't exactly just _leave_ her here though.

I sighed. I don't know where she lives, so my apartment it is, I guess.

I snaked my arms behind her knees and under her shoulder blades, alarmed to feel how prominent they were. What was she, anorexic or something?

Shaking my head, I slowly stood up. Jeez, were all girls this light? Ugh, whatever. Don't want her to wake up and think I'm that creepy old guy.

I set off at a surprisingly brisk pace, considering the extra body I was carrying, reaching my peeling, scratched-up door in only a couple of minutes. Hell, the chick was so light, I was able to hold her in one arm while I dug out my keys. They must hate me, because it took my literally a minute to find them. God.

I unlocked and opened the door, letting it swing wide open. Mikey was at some friend's house, thank God; one less thing to worry about.

Chucking my keys at the countertop, I scanned the room for anything that I would regret a normal person seeing.

Eh, good enough. Now where to put my unconcious visitor, though? Bedrooms were definitely out; her encounter with that. . . thing. . . probably would probable make her just a little paranoid about strange men. Yeah. . . couch it is, then.

So I shoved all the junk currently living on the piece of furniture off of it and onto the ground, then carefully lowered the girl down onto it, removing my arms when the cushions were fully supporting her weight.

I stepped back, not wanting to invade her personal space. My teeth dug into my lower lip; what the fuck am I supposed to do with some random unconcious chick in my apartment?

I sighed angrily. Yeah, this was one of those decisions I made that I regretted about five minutes after making it. What if she doesn't wake up? Or maybe even worse, what if she _does_ wake up, and freaks out because she's in some random guy's apartment?

Well, this was definitely one of my more stupid decisions, to say the least.

I heard a soft sigh from the girl in front of me, and I practically leapt back over to her.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

She gasped, and lavender eyelids fluttered slightly, revealing—wait, are those dark circles under her eyes? _Shut the fuck up and concentrate, Gerard!_—luminous pools of silver. They darted around, pupils contracting to pinpricks, then dilating till they practically obscured the metallic rings around them, until they finally settled on my face.

"Oh, hey Gerard," she murmured—sighed, practically—while her eyelids slowly fell shut again.

**A/N: HAHAHAHAH! Cliffhanger-ish thing! Sorry it's taken me so long to update this thing. I just got a Deviant Art account, so I've been busy faving half the MCR stuff on there. . . heh-heh. . . I'll probably never post anything, which kind of defeats the purpose of having an account, but oh well. So long, and goodnight, readers! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hahahahahah, sorry for leaving you hanging there :P Now, just to warn you, this is my first time writing something like this! (You'll know what I mean by the end of the chapter. . . heh-heh. . .) So, PLEASE, let me know how I did! Good, bad, okay, HORRIBLE? I WANNA KNOW! Anyway, on to the story!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned MCR, Frerard would be more than just a fanfic pairing. . . sigh. . .**

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><p>My eyes opened. The first thing I saw was a pair of hazel eyes. I sighed slightly, exhausted all of a sudden, even though I'd apparently just woken up or something. The eyes were so pretty, so clear and deep, the irises made of little shards of color, some a bright green, others a deep, warm brown. They were surrounded by pale, clear skin, which covered beautifully sharp cheekbones. My eyes traced the sharp angles of the jaw, then last, the full, lush lips. Thin locks of stark, black hair partially obscured the face, like splatters of paint across an unwitting canvas.<p>

"How did you know my name?" The lips moved, as a voice with a surprisingly light, fragile timbre questioned me.

"Huh?" was my ingenious response. I must have looked seriously confused, because after a few seconds of me giving him the what-the-fuck look and him giving me the that's-what-I'm-asking-you look, he just shook his mop of black hair and let it go.

"So, um, what the fuck. . ." I trailed off, prompting him to explain what the hell I was doing in, well, his apartment, it looked like.

His eyes darted back up to mine; "You wake up in some random dude's apartment after almost getting. . ." he trailed off for a second, biting his lip, but continued on before his pause became too noticeable. "Yeah, and you're just all, "oh yeah, what the fuck?' That's seems just a little too accepting."

"I could start screaming and have a panic attack, if you'd prefer," I offered.

He snorted; "Um, yeah, no thanks. I definitely prefer bizarre nonchalontness to freaked out panic attacks any day," he said, grimacing as he spoke.

"So. . . Hi. Um. . . What's your name. . ?" he trailed off awkwardly.

I was so busy staring at his fucking beautiful face that I almost forgot he was talking to me. Whoops.

"Uh, Roxanne. Or Roxy. Or whatever. You know." Wow, I didn't sound nervous or desperate _at all_. Fail. "You?"

"I'm Gerard. But my brother and our friends call me Gee," he said a little too quickly. He gave a (really adorable) nervous smile, somehow looking up at me through his black fringe despite the fact that he was leaning over me.

Oh wait, yeah, he was, um, leaning over me. . . That's a little distracting. . .

"Hi, Gerard," I muttered, all the while staring into his eyes; God, he probably thought I was some freak or something.

Or maybe not; he was, after all, staring back at me, and smiling, too. Neither of us had moved.

Without my permission, the corners of my lips turned upwards, but for the first time since I learned about my disease, I didn't mind.

I noticed Gerard's hands; one was on the back of the couch, supporting his weight so he didn't crush me, and the other was resting on the edge of the sofa cushion near my head. His fingers were long and spindly, and beautifully pale.

Their delicacy mesmerized me as he reached up to stroke my left cheek gently; his cool touch was feather-light and sent delicious shivers down my spine. As he ran his fingers over my jaw line, his eyebrows moved together slightly, as though something he'd seen in me had saddened him.

I was about to ask him what it was when he leaned towards me and I felt smooth, cool lips touch my cheekbone.

I inhaled sharply, and Gerard froze. Don't get me wrong, it sure didn't feel _bad_; in fact, his touch felt good. _Really_ good. _Goddamn_ fucking good. So good that my hand raised of its own accord to caress his face.

Just the tips of my fingers grazed over his temple, my fingers weaving into his soft, black hair slightly before coming back up to his cheek.

I couldn't see his eyes, but I heard and felt his breathing quicken ever so slightly, and I thought, _Fuck it. I'm motherfucking _dying_; if I don't deserve to live a little before finishing the process, then I don't know who does_.

I moved the hand that was resting on Gerard's cheek down along his jaw to his hair, running my fingers through it and angling my face under his so that our lips could meet.

I gasped again. His lips moved against mine, opening slightly. His warm breath was a flawless contrast to his cool lips. His hand moved on my face towards the back of my neck, long fingers gently cradling the slender column of my throat.

I instinctively opened my mouth slightly when I felt his hot, moist tongue slide lightly across my lower lip.

As my lips parted, his other hand came up to curve around my cheek, and the muscle tentatively mingled with my own. It explored the cavern of my mouth eagerly.

I shocked even myself when a moan of longing escaped from my lips.

His wonderful taste was that of cigarettes, combined with something all his own, something just purely _Gerard_.

I wound my fingers into his long hair, and pulled him closer to me.

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><p><em>Gerard's POV<em>

God. My tongue traced her now pink lips, and I was pleased when she parted them for me.

I slipped my tongue inside her mouth. _God_, she tasted good. Like cigarettes, and. . . life. She tasted like being alive.

I felt her chest vibrate slightly as she let out a moan. This, I am slightly embarrassed to say, was a turn-on for me.

Small, nimble fingers were woven into my hair as she pulled me closer to her.

After that, I couldn't help myself. Without my permission, my hand began stroking her cheek again, but this time it travelled down the length of her pale, white throat, down her shoulder blade, ever so lightly tracing the curve of her breasts.

"Roxy. . ." I breathed, now almost panting.

"Gee. . ."

The sound of my name on her breath was enough. I opened my eyes, needing to see her face.

Roxanne's eyes were open too, staring back at me, brimming over with lust. And maybe, just _maybe_, something more.

It was then that I remembered what it felt like to be alive.

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><p><strong>AN: SOOO? HOW'D I DO? Please tell me. I'm really scared! Well, until the next chapter! :-/**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi! I'm not dead! Heh, sorry about the wait, though. I really have no excuse, I pretty much just have no work ethic:P But anyway, here's the next chapter! You guys can thank BelovedShadow and her friend ItachiSasukeSama. They inspired me to FINALLY update, and are super-cool and awesome. Thank you, and anyone else who's ever reviewed!:) Now, on to the story! (BTW the stuff in italics at the beginning is the last few sentences of the last chapter )**

_Roxanne's eyes were open too, staring back at me, brimming over with lust. And maybe, just maybe, something more._

_ It was then that I remembered what it felt like to be alive._

It was also then that I remembered that I was in my apartment, in Jersey, making out with a girl who I found about to get. . . well, shall we say, "creeped-on" by some homeless creeper. I _knew_ I'd been forgetting something.

My eyes drifted shut again, so close to letting the lust overtake my usually-rational mind, but, unfortunately, I knew better.

I sighed, opening my eyes again, to see her's closed under slightly scrunched-up eyebrows. _So we're on the same page_, I thought. But we'd reached the bottom of our imaginary page, and we had to turn to the next one. And apparently, that next page is the one on which Roxanne starts crying. Shit.

_Roxanne's POV_

I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks, which of course only made me feel worse. Here I was, making out with this beautiful stranger, who, miraculously, seemed to think that I was at least _somewhat_ beautiful as well. Or he just wanted to have sex with me. But it didn't matter; here was someone who, for whatever reason, seemed to want me, and here I was, crying over something I couldn't change and what that meant I'd never have. Oh, sure, as they unwillingly told me, it's not _impossible_ to recover at this stage; it's just astronomically improbable. Leading to my confident use of the word "never."

To my dismay, a low sob escaped my now-somber lips.

"Aw. . . Shit, sorry. . ." Gerard told me, obviously feeling horrible over something. "I know we just met and all. . . God, I'm such an asshole," he muttered, quickly leaning back, getting up, and starting to walk away.

I couldn't have that. "No!" I sniffed. "It's not you. . . it's not your fault, I'm just, like. . . really fucked up right now, to put it gently."

"Yeah?" he asked gently. "Why? What's going on? If you don't mind me asking of course. . . I mean you really don't even know me. . ." he started rambling.

"No! I mean, no, I actually do want to talk to someone," I confessed. I hated showing weakness. But this man doesn't know how strong I really am, so nothing I do with him can make me look comparatively weak. I've got nothing to lose.

"Okay." He was cautious, now that he could see how much this upset me.

"Okay. Well, um. . . it's kind of a really long story, 'cause it's basically my whole life, but the worst part is probably the cancer." I was determined not to beat around the bush. If it was going to scare him off, it might as well happen before I got too attached.

He didn't say anything.

"Small-cell lung cancer, to be precise, but whatever. . ." I muttered. It amazed even me how little I seemed to care.

Gerard snapped out of whatever trance he'd been in. "Oh," he said softly.

That was it. Not 'Oh, I'm so sorry, that's terrible, you know, I had an uncle who had pancreatic cancer, blah blah blah.' Because while sympathy is nice, knowing someone who was dying was different than doing it yourself. I found myself grateful for his lack of empathy.

"How long?"

It was impossible to not know what he meant. "You can never be sure. It could be a year. It could be four months," I stated.

Gerard nodded, never taking his brown-flecked eyes off of me. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it, and shut it again.

"What?" I asked.

"I. . ." His lower lip was between his teeth again. "I. . . don't want to say I know how you feel, because I don't, and I probably never truly will; but know that I at least have some idea," he finally said.

I was suspicious now. "What do you mean?" I pressed.

The boy's eyebrows were furrowed now as he backed up and collapsed down into an old kitchen chair that had been moved to sit at my impromptu bedside. His gem-shards gaze was fixed on his denim-clad lap. "Well," he said, after what felt like a lifetime or two. "I don't plan on bein' around for more than a year or so more either," He admitted.

I couldn't believe this. And to think he'd once seemed nice. "Yeah, because I totally have my tragic, disease-induced death all planned out. I can't wait!" My sarcasm was a razor to his fragile discretion.

"What? No! That's not what I meant at all! I just meant, like—" he was pleading, when I cut him off.

"And what, you _do_ have it planned? What the fuck?" I was seriously pissed off now. I pushed myself up from my horizontal position on the couch, bracing myself with my hands as I glared at him.

He was biting his lip again. And still looking down. I came to a realization; his position was that of someone _ashamed_, something so rare in our society these days that at first I hadn't even recognized it. Wait, if he was ashamed of it, then it must be. . . "Fuck." I didn't realize I had said that last part aloud.

Gerard's now shining eyes flashed up to mine again. His eyebrows were again drawn together slightly, as he silently plead with me not to judge him. He knew I'd figured it out. His eyes weren't just shining now; they were glistening with moisture. But I was too caught up in my realization to notice right away.

"Just. . . _why_?" was all I could get out.

He was looking down at his lap yet _again_. I just barely stopped myself before wondering what was down there that could be so interesting.

So absorbed in controlling my wayward thoughts was I that I didn't pick up on his change of emotion until a drop of liquid fell down, leaving a small, darkened circle on the black denim of his pants.

_Oh_, I thought. _Tears_. _Gerard's crying_.

He sniffed a little, and I realized how ridiculously harsh I was being. I may have been dying, but he actually _wanted_ to die. That had to suck.

I pushed myself out of the worn couch cushions, taking the single step towards his chair without thinking. It was in the same manner that, without my consent, my hands went down, gently cupping his face between them, and tilting it up so I could see his expression.

Our eyes met again, and the look I saw in his hit my heart with an excruciating force; I didn't doubt that the impact made cracks there. It was like that of someone looking out from a tomb, yearning desperately, yet agonizingly unable to join the world of the living once more.

"Gee," I whispered.

Another tear streaked down his cheek as he stood up and wrapped his lean, strong arms around me. He buried his face in my hair as he clung to me desperately. I couldn't resist returning the gesture, and gently rubbed small circles in his back as I hid my face in his chest, feeling my own tears slide down my cheeks.

"Oh, God, Roxy," he murmured against my hair.

I agreed. We were doomed, broken, and hurting, but for now, at least, we were no longer alone.

**A/N: Well, there you go! Sorry, I know my updates are short and this one's kina boring:( But don't worry! It will get better;) Thanks for reading. Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys! Here I am again! Sorry for the crappy ending on the last chapter. . . heh-heh. . . This one's pretty shitty too, though, so sorry! :'( Hopefully the story will start to pick up soon. (I'm realizing now that, five chapters into this story, I've only changed scenes, like, five times. Weird.) Anyway, here's your chapter! :)**

"_Oh, God, Roxy," he murmured against my hair._

_I agreed. We were doomed, broken, and hurting, but for now, at least, we were no longer alone._

_(Roxanne's POV)_

I sighed wearily. I was about to pull away from his warm embrace when he spoke.

"Did you want to know why?" His voice was soft and fragile, like it might shatter if one responded too harshly.

"Only if _you_ want me to," I said; I did want to know, but it was obviously something very personal. None of this—whatever "this" was—would end well if we were forced into sharing things we weren't comfortable with.

He seemed to think hard for a while. I was about to let it go when he told me, "Yeah; I think I do."

I was patient, knowing he'd continue in his own time. His hand stroked my back while he mentally prepared himself.

"Okay. Lemme see, here. . . well, I guess most of my 'problems'—" he said the words in such a way that I knew they weren't his own—"first really started in high school. I—"

"Wait, how old are you?" I asked, pulling back a little. He actually laughed a little at that; it was a tired laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Don't worry, I'm not some creeper. Cree_py_, maybe, but not a creep_er_," he assured me.

I laughed a little in response.

"And I'm twenty-two. I go to art school," he informed me. "So anyway, like I said, I was always sort of 'weird,' never as happy or carefree as the other kids, I guess." He seemed bitter about this somehow. "But the major issues started in high school. I had depression—I still do—and. . . Life sucked.

"People hated on me 'cause I dressed different, and didn't wear football jerseys or want to date the head cheerleader. Or anyone, for that matter." He grimaced. "Well, there was _someone_." He trailed off; I could imagine his gaze drifting off, losing focus.

Yeah, I knew he was too good to be single. "Yeah?" I prompted.

He sighed again, and finally released me, leading me back over to the couch by the hand. He sat, and pulled me down next to him.

"There was one girl. I really liked her. We were actually _friends_, we hung out all the time," he admitted. His tone was wistful. "One day, though, she got a boyfriend, of course. Now before you jump to conclusions," he cautioned me. Well, the story _was_ somewhat predictable, so far. He continued, "It didn't end badly because she got a boyfriend. It was because she got _him_ as a boyfriend." Gerard's hazel eyes were staring, or more like burning a hole in, some distant, unfortunate object somewhere behind my left shoulder. "Motherfucker was fucking quarterback of the football team; or asshole of the century.

"He was treating her bad, and, to me, it was obvious. Fuck, it was probably obvious to everyone; I must have just been the only one who cared."

Shit. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

"He. . ." he paused, swallowing and taking a deep breath. "He used to hit her. . . If she looked at guy, he'd punch her. If she didn't kiss back when he practically fucking molested her in front of his friends, he'd laugh, and then when they were alone he'd yell at her, and kick her and beat her. _God_. . ." he had to stop for a moment as he sniffed.

I realized that, once again, my eyes were wet. Was our whole relationship going to be built of tears and sorrow?

"_God_, I, I think he u-used to r-rape her, too. . ." Gerard was flat-out crying now.

I squeezed his hand, interlacing our fingers. "It's okay, Gerard. It's. . ." I'd been going to say, 'it's over now,' but then I realized something. 'He _used_ to hit her,' he'd said. _Used_ to.

"Gerard, can you tell me what happened? Do you want to?" I asked him, trying to keep my expression calm and comforting.

"Ugh, Roxy. . . It was all my fault. . . H-he found out that she was f-friends with me. . . and he, he didn't. . . didn't like it," again, tears were streaming down Gerard's porcelain cheeks.

I couldn't help but reach out to brush away the glistening drops of moisture, my fingers lingering on his sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw line. "We can stop if you want, Gee," I tried to reassure him.

But there was no stopping him now. "H-he must have beat her horribly, s-so I assumed that that was why she wasn't in school the next day. If I'd known. . ." he had to stop again, looking down as still more tears fell.

"But. . . but I didn't know. . . So I-I waited till after school to go to her house, y'know, t-to check on her. But. . ."

"Hey, Gee, seriously, we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," I insisted, my hand moving to his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

"N-no, no, I want to. I _need_ to. I-I've never told anyone the whole story b-b'fore," he sniffled.

"Okay," I said quietly.

"S-so I got to her house, and I knocked, but she didn't answer. S-so I just went in, 'cause we were friends, and I was w-worried about her right? It's what f-friends do, right?" He looked up at me again, desperate for reassurance.

"Of course Gee, you did the right thing," I assured him, but I was worried now. What could have shaken him to the point where he doubted that he was being a good friend?

"Okay. . . Thanks, Roxy. . . Anyway, s-so I went in the house, and I was walking around, callin' her name, but she wasn't answering me. At first I thought she just wasn't home, b-but I wanted to make sure first, y'know? So I looked all the rooms, in her bedroom, and then I saw that the bathroom door was closed." His stuttered speech broke off suddenly, as he shuddered uncontrollably.

"Hey, Gee, shh, it's okay," I said frantically, wrapping my arms around him again, hoping to provide some sort of comfort.

"A-and sh-she was in there. The first thing I saw was the red stuff. It was so _bright_," he murmured, "Everything was so _bright_, covered in that reddish stuff. At first I didn't even realize it was b-blood, I thought she must've spilled somethin' in there or something. I didn't really get it until I saw the razor blades on the counter and the. . . the _gashes_. . . on her w-wrists."

I was crying, too, now. How pathetic. I just cry at everything in life, now don't I? Whatever. Fuck life.

"I. . . I'm so sorry, Gerard," I muttered against his warm shoulder, my tears soaking into his T-shirt.

"S'okay, Rox. S'not your fault I wasn't good enough to keep her here," he informed me.

"Oh, no, Gerard. Don't you go there." Now this was one thing I couldn't have Gerard saying.

"W-what?" he asked, obviously confused. "W-what are you talking about?"

I sighed. "This whole, 'Oh, I wasn't good enough' shit. It's bullshit, Gerard, you hear me? _Bullshit_. You are _more_ than enough to keep _anyone anywhere_. _Nothing_ that she did, or ever happened to her was even _remotely_ your fault. So don't you _ever_ let me hear you talk like that again." I didn't mean to sound so angry with him. I just felt so strongly about this.

"Okay," he mumbled quietly against my hair. "Sorry."

I sighed again. "No, don't apologize. _I'm_ sorry. I had no right to get mad at you like that. You just _have_ to understand, that nothing like that is you fault. You can _never_ blame yourself like that. You promise me?" I challenged.

"O-okay. I'll t-try, Roxy," he said, pulling back to give me a pained, watery smile.

"Thanks, Gee," I whispered, and pulled him back to me, wanting to never have to let go.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I think that was probably way too long and dragged out, and really pretty shitty anyway, so sorry! D': I'm trying though! Sorry it always takes me so long to update. Hopefully something interesting will happen in this story soon! OH! And PLEEEEEEEEAAASE review! I'll love you forever! Thank you!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hola! Here is your new chapter!:) Okay, now, just to warn you, I suck at scenes of physical contact, so don't say I didn't warn you of this chapter's probable horribleness:P Anyways, here it is!**

_(Roxanne's POV)_

"So. . ." I trailed off, not sure where this whole encounter was going to go.

"Yeah. . ." Gerard didn't seem to know either. "Oh, jeez, you probably have to leave or something, don't you?" he asked, laughing nervously.

"Oh, um, yeah, I, uh, guess I do." The truth was, I not only did I not _have_ to leave, I didn't _want_ to. Why should I? I just met one of the few people who actually seems to care about me at all, so I'm probably not going to want to run off the first chance I get. I have no reason to, either; Mom won't exactly miss me, whoever my dad is doesn't know me and therefore can't care, and. . . yeah, that's about it. Oh, there's school tomorrow, but I don't plan on going there anyways.

"Okay," Gerard agreed; was I imagining things, or did he just give up on the smile he'd been forcing?

"Okay," I whispered. I pulled away slowly and unwillingly.

"Hey, can I, um, well. . ." He sighed. ". . .Never mind, actually," he amended.

"No, no, what is it?" I was curious now. His multi-colored darted back down to mine.

"Okay, well. . . Can I, like, have your number?" he muttered, blushing.

I laughed. "Oh my God Gee, that's what you've been stressing over?" I couldn't help chuckling again. "Yeah, sure, game your phone," I directed him, still smiling a little as he handed it to me and I entered all the information.

He sighed, relief apparent on his features. "Thanks," he said, grinning as I handed him the device, showing his small, pointed teeth.

His smile was contagious, spreading to all those close enough to feel its warmth. Only this was one disease that I was happy to be getting.

"I'll, um, call you, right? Like, after school maybe?" he asked, somehow still worried that I would (don't ask me _why_) reject him.

"Gee, I wouldn't have given you my number if I didn't want you to call me," I returned, a smile playing on my lips. "But don't wait till you think school's over," I bit my lip a little, hoping he wouldn't get mad at me for ditching. He didn't seem like the type, but you never know. . .

"Wait, you're not in high school?" he asked, black eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"No, I am. I just don't plan on going," I assured him. Please don't judge me, please don't judge me.

"Ah," he said, the now-familiar grin once again taking over his features. "Well in that case, don't expect to be rid of me for long," he teased.

I couldn't help but giggle. Wait, I just _giggled_. Whoa. Eh, whatever. "Okay, so I'll see you 'round?" I confirmed as we walked towards the door.

"Yeah," he murmured as we reached the entryway. His eyes fell to my hand, and he tentatively reached out, holding onto it and bringing it to his warm, soft lips, smiling coyly as he kissed it.

I couldn't resist running my other hand through his black, greasy locks (was it wrong that I found this endearing?) before coming to rest with my fingers lightly stroking his cheekbones.

Never breaking eye contact with me, he stopped kissing my hand in favor of my jaw line. He leaned down to brush small, delicate kisses there, every few seconds letting his tongue peak out, resulting in me gasping slightly when he did. The experience was only intensified by the sensation of his hypnotic eyes gazing holes into mine.

His lips gradually trailed from my jaw, up to the corner of my mouth, now open slightly with excitement. His hands came up cradle my head, one caressing the back of my neck, the other with fingers wound gently into my plain, black hair. His eyelids fluttered shut only as he brought his lips, for the second time tonight, to mine.

The sheer _love_ evident in the chaste gesture was enough to set me off. He may have meant for this good-bye kiss to be short and sweet, but I wasn't about to let him get away now that he was here again.

My own lips curved upwards at the corners, parting further to allow my tongue to lightly rub against Gerard's lower lip.

Apparently slightly shocked, he inhaled sharply; he must have realized my intentions, but he had other ideas. I heard him chuckle lowly before tracing my own mouth with his tongue. I sighed, giving him access. He was quick to take advantage, exploring not only with his mouth, but with his hands.

Gerard was, though, far from rough or raunchy. He lightly ran his nimble fingers over the small of my back, combing my hair behind my ear as he broke the kiss suddenly, leaning down to whisper to me.

"You should probably leave now, sugar. Or I might have to keep you here," he murmured in my ear. I could imagine the wicked smirk adorning his angelic face.

His arms were wrapped around my waist, mine around his neck, as he sighed, nuzzling the area between my neck and my shoulder. He traced a line from my collarbone to my earlobe with a warm, wet tongue, stopping to bite and suck on it slightly. I whimpered involuntarily.

He laughed quietly into my ear, and I shivered in pleasure.

"Oh God, sugar, you're just too wonderful for your own good, now aren't you?" He muttered against my skin.

All I managed was an incoherent moan, which became a protesting one as he slowly pulled away from me, hand falling back down to his sides.

"Geeeee," I whined, crossing my arms and hoping that I didn't look like a pouting two-year-old.

"Roxaaaaaanne," he responded, mimicking me. Something changed in his eyes though. They lit up as though he were remembering something. "_Roxanne_," he sang suddenly. "_You don't have to put on the red light. Those days are over, you don't have to sell your body to the night_," he continued.

I burst out laughing. "Okay, Gerard, I'll see you tomorrow," I said between giggles.

"Yes. Yes you will," he agreed, completely straight-faced, causing me to once again start cracking up. Eventually he joined in.

"So, until tomorrow? Or, wow, should I say, later today, I guess?" I asked, stunned. I glanced up at the clock hanging on the mostly-blank, beige walls of his apartment. It casually read two thirty in the morning.

Gerard's eyes jumped over to the object of my focus, swearing under his breath, though smiling at the same time. "Yeah, I'll see you," he confirmed, opening the door for me.

"Okay," I said as I stepped through the doorway. "Oh my god, and thanks for, um, helping me in the alley back there. . ." I felt horrible; I'd never thanked him!

"Oh yeah, don't mention it. Just be careful 'round here, okay?" he cautioned.

"Definitely. Bye, Gerard," I said.

"Bye, Roxy," he returned, and I turned, and began the walk back to my apartment.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys! Wow, sorry it's so short! :P Oh and also, I know I updated sooner than I did last time, but come on! No new reviews? :'( I NEED to know how I'm doing here! I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to, like, stop the story or anything if people don't comment, but I need to know how I'm doing! Like, was the kiss or whatever at the end completely awkward and horrible? DON'T BE AFRAID TO TELL ME! But don't be mean please either, of course. Anyway, I hope you liked this new chapter! Until next time! :) OH! And also, in case you didn't know, the lyrics are from the song "Roxanne," by the Police.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, Imma make this short, cuz the A/N at the end is, like, insanely long. Sorry I didn't update! :(**

**DISCLAIMER: Technically, having a disclaimer saying I do not own a person is redundant, since slavery is illegal, and people who have slaves should go. . . Never mind. But anyways, I DON'T OWN MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE OR ANY OF THE PEOPLE IN IT. BUT I DO OWN ROXANNE.**

I walked quickly down the hall towards my apartment; not because I was in any hurry to leave Gerard, but because, however lively I may have been feeling, my dear mother probably would not feel the same. Meaning, if she catches me sneaking back in (that is, if it even occurred to her that, usually, it does not take one seven hours to take out the garbage), she will undoubtedly be exceptionally pissed. But that's a big "if." I am the master of sneaking. . . fuck.

I'd been digging around in my pocked absentmindedly for about the past five minutes, only now realizing not only that I was looking for my keys, but also that if I'd looked for five minutes and found _nothing_, they probably just weren't there to begin with. So, I amend my previously unfinished statement to say that I am the master of _breaking into_ my own apartment. Let's just say that my keys always seem to be elusive, spiteful creatures who take pleasure in disappearing whenever I need them most.

However, this is why I use bobby pins. After running my fingers through my hair, I managed to locate one of the fuckers, with which I quickly began picking the lock on the door before me.

_Click, tap, slide_. Finally. _Getting faster every time_, I thought sarcastically.

My fingers, clad in jagged nails and faded ink (from _pens_, I might add), wrapped around the grimy knob, turning ever so slowly. Wouldn't want to disturb the bit—I mean, _woman_, who's in there, now would we?

Now, don't ask me how or why, but for some reason the door was actually a little bit bigger than the doorframe in some places, meaning that, even after laboring over the inexplicably rusting keyhole residing on it, one had to give the chunk of "wood" quite the shove in order to gain complete access to the hell that lies beyond it. Well, it's really just a continuation of Hell, but that's beyond the point. . .

Doing my best to throw my weight against it gently, I managed to get the door open without causing a disturbance. I painstakingly repeated the process after I entered, making sure to take my bobby pin back with me. You obviously never know when you might need one.

My ragged Converse shoes treading lightly on the abused flooring, I silently made my way through the kitchen and into my room. Shutting—and _locking_—the door behind me, I kicked off my shoes, cringing at the soft _clomp_ they made on my threadbare carpet. I was moving quickly now, though, finally realizing that, Hello, it's about three-o-fucking-clock in the fucking morning, meaning my brain wants to _sleep_.

So after yanking off my T-shirt and jeans—the latter taking significantly longer, I might add—and flopping down on my perpetually unmade bed, that's exactly what I did.

. . .

"_I'll keep dreaming__  
><em>_Not another word, sweetheart__  
><em>_Nothing is perfect, but it has to be someday__  
><em>_So I'll keep dreaming__  
><em>_We have to be someday. . ."_

I woke up to my cell phone ringing obnoxiously. My attempt to ignore it was foiled when I fell out of bed when I tried to roll over. Deciding that as long as I was awake, I might as well answer it, I shook my jeans out, waiting for the tell-tale thump of the phone hitting the floor. Finally, I found it.

"Uhrm. . . Wha'sup?" I mumbled, really only partially conscious.

"Um, hi, it's Gerard, is this Roxanne?" The slightly nasal, completely loveable voice on the other end questioned.

"Ah! Oh, um, yeah, hey, Gerard. Sorry, I like, just woke up. Argh, what time is it?" I moaned.

"Like, one-ish, I think. . ." he replied.

"Fuck. Well. . . Anyway. . . D'you wanna come over?" I asked him.

Gerard sighed.

"I mean, I like, totally get it if you're busy, or something, or if you just, like, don't want to hang out with me—" I started.

"No, no! I mean, yeah, I'd love to, but, uh, is your mom home, or anything? Like, will she mind. . . ?" I could imagine his perfect little face scrunching up a little, wincing at the thought of an overbearing mother.

"Oh, no, she's not home. You'd probably have heard her by now if she was," I reassured him.

"Okay. That's good. . . So, um, what number are you?"

"Uhhh. . . 413."

"Okay. You probably want time to get ready or whatever. . . I hear girls are like that," he joked.

"Yeah. . . Um, you can come over, like, anytime after one-thirty, if that works for you," I decided.

"Yep, that's cool. I'll see you then!" Gerard's light-hearted farewell brought a pathetically large smile to my face.

"Yeah, talk to you later. Bye!" I hung up. Dropping my battered phone to the floor, I let out a rather indescribable sound that somehow was excited, annoyed, worried, and tired, all at the same time. Huh. Whatever.

I spent the next ten minutes in the shower (I'll deny to the end that I am far from obsessed with showering, but the fact that I feel the need to say it sort of invalidates my protests, don't you think?), and then wasted the next ten trying to decide what to wear and how to do my hair and makeup. Eventually, though, I just decided to wear whatever I thought looked awesome, and blow dry and brush out my hair. After all, anyone who judges me, as a person, on how expensive or "tasteful" my clothes are and how straight my hair is, is _not_ someone I want to know personally. Or at all, for that matter.

Fortunately, I was saved from drowning in my unproductive thoughts by a soft knock on the door.

"Coming!" I yelled, half-walking, half-running through the house towards the source of the sound.

After fiddling around with the stupid key for what seemed like five minutes (I swear, that motherfucker wants to ruin my life), I finally managed to yank the door open.

**A/N: So, yeah. Heh. There ya go. One suckish chapter, that'll be one jillion dollars, sir. Nah, just kidding. But OH MAI GAWD this chapter SUUUUUCKS! Or blows, as my chorus teacher would say. She's awesome. She says that when she gets old, she's going to be a crazy old lady who wears bright pink and orange, and whose hair sticks straight up from her head. She also says she will invite children over to her house for cookies in a creepy and definitively threatening manner. I love her so much. :) Anyway. . . I haven't been feeling so great lately. I have depression, which sucks MAJOR BALLS! So, please leave me a review, or subscribe, or whatever! Even if your review just says, like, "cool beans, man," or something, it will seriously make my day, probably my week as well. Until next time! :) OH! And the lyrics (in italics) are from the song, "To Trixie and Reptile, Thanks For Everything," by Chiodos.**


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